


Sleepsong

by SoDoRoses (FairyChess)



Series: LAOFT Extras [18]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Gen, May is kind of an asshole in this tbh, gratuitous angst, the major character death is arguably an original character, the series is LAMP but there's no romance here, this is OBSCENELY sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 10:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19293853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyChess/pseuds/SoDoRoses
Summary: A hundred years is a long, long timeLonely, yes. But not always alone.Part of theLove and Other FairytalesVerse





	Sleepsong

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt from @centrumlumina on tumblr:
> 
> "what does virgil remember of greta/trudi/may/abby talking to him while he slept?"
> 
> the age of majority in the early 1900’s was 21 in most places HOWEVER Ohio was one of seventeen states in which the age of majority for girls was 18
> 
> the first song Trudi sings is the German lyrics (translated into English) of “Brahm’s lullaby,” and the second is “Only Forever” by Bing Crosby.
> 
> The song Greta sings is “The Vacant Chair” by Henry Washburn and George F Root.
> 
> Abby’s song is “The Man In Black” by Johnny Cash
> 
> If you like the OC's in this verse this is like [ Requiem ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18989029) levels of sad

“Good morning,  _Bruderspinne,”_

_Morning, Grettie._

“Good morning,” said Trudi quietly.

 _Good morning, Trudi_ , thought Virgil, and he’d never wanted to cry so much in his life. Trudi got quieter every time she came. She sounded less like she was visiting Virgil and more like she was visiting a  _grave_.

There was a long pause, and then a shift of fabric.

“Go ahead,” said Greta.

Still more silence.

“Trudi has news she wants to share,  _Bruderspinne_ ,”

He heard Trudi take a steadying breath.

“I met my familiar yesterday,” she said quietly.

Virgil’s heart constricted with a mix of aching grief and overwhelming pride. Trudi continued.

“I didn’t realize until this morning, I spilled some cinders on my bare feet and barely even noticed. She’s a rabbit. Her name is Schatzi,”

There was a shuffling in the grass, and then the sound of something soft being set on top of the lid. The object moved – it must be the rabbit.

“Say hello, Schatzi,”

Two soft, polite  _thumps_  to the casket.

 _Hello,_ thought Virgil,  _I already like you better than Ritter._

Distracted by the rabbit shuffling above him, he didn’t realize Trudi was crying until he heard Greta asking her what was wrong.

“Nothing,  _Mutti_ ,”

 _Don’t fib, pest_ , Virgil thought the same moment Greta said “Well, I’d hope you don’t think I’m  _that_  stupid,”

“Schatzi’s a rabbit because I’m a coward,” said Trudi miserably.

“That’s nonsense if I ever heard it,” said Greta, and the rabbit gave a second, much less polite thump. “Schatzi might be a rabbit for any number of reasons. And you’re not a coward, Gertrude,”

“I am, though,” sniffed Trudi, “If I was brave I would fight the Serpent King to save  _Bruderspinne_ , but instead I just hide in the house and never go outside after dark and wear all kinds of bells and-”

“ _Trudi,_ ” said Greta helplessly, and Virgil wanted to scream or break something or burn the forest to the ground with his brother tied in the middle of it but instead he just sat perfectly still and said nothing.

“Trudi, dearie, you’re  _thirteen_ ,” and didn’t that make Virgil want to sob like a child

“You cant fight  _Herr Natter_.  _I_  can’t fight him, and I’m a grown woman,”

“But you  _try_ ,” wailed Trudi, “What do I do, but hide and cry all the time?”

The was another soft thump, and Virgil thought Trudi might have leaned on the glass – when she spoke her voice was closer.

“We miss you so much,” cried Trudi, “And I’m not doing anything, I’m a terrible niece, I-”

_No, no, no, don’t cry, Trudi, Trudi, I love you, pest, please don’t cry-_

“Come here,” said Greta, and Trudi’s tearful cries moved a little further away, “You do plenty. You sing him songs and keep him company and you tell him all the gossip. You’re not terrible. And _Bruderspinne_  loves you very much, do you think he’d be happy that you were being so mean to yourself?”

Trudi’s sobs redoubled.

“I don’t want to  _think_  if he’d be h-happy! I w-want him to be  _here_ ,” she sobbed.

 _I’m here,_  Virgil pleaded,  _I am, I’m here, please, please, I’m right here._

They didn’t hear him. They never did.

* * *

“My birthday’s next week,” said Trudi conversationally, “You gotta stop laying about all the time,  _Bruderspinne_ , you’ll miss the party,”

She paused, and Virgil waited.

“No, you’re right – too many  _mortals_ ,” she said, “I think if you showed up to my birthday party Preacher Archer might actually pass out,”

A soft thunk. She did that a lot, set her head on the glass. Virgil wondered what she looked like now. Like Greta? She’d always had Toby’s eyes, since the day she was born – did she look more like him now?

“You should come anyway,” she said quietly, “It’ll be funny. Like a prank,”

Virgil listened.

“ _Mutti’s_  doing something,” Trudi whispered, “She won’t talk to me or _Vati_ about it. I-”

Her voice cracked, and Virgil ached with his whole body.

“I’m scared,” she said, “She’s so angry all the time. I don’t know what she’ll do,”

 _Me neither,_  thought Virgil.

And it was true. He heard her sometimes, knew her footsteps well enough to recognize them, but she would come and not speak. It was unnerving, even though he knew who it was. Greta was never quiet. Not unless something was wrong.

“I wish you were here,” said Trudi quietly, “You had that thing, you know? You and  _Mutti_  always knew how to talk to each other. You’d have it out of her inside five minutes,”

 _I am here_ , Virgil thought. But he wasn’t. Not really. Not in the ways that were important.

“ _Good evening, good night; bedecked with roses, adorned with cloves…”_

He heard her shuffling as she sang, up the side of the case until her head was right next to his, her voice close.

“ _Sleep only blessed and sweet… see paradise in your dream…”_

* * *

Some days later, Greta did her strange, silent vigil again. But after the long and pregnant quiet, she spoke, and Virgil’s chest seized.

“Trudi has reached her age of majority,” said Greta.

Another, shorter pause.

“She’s not a child anymore,” said Greta, “She’s her own person. I don’t have any control over her,”

Cold dread pooled in Virgil’s stomach, and he strained and strained and did not move.

“I’m about to do something very stupid,” said Greta wetly, “So you really oughta wake up and stop me,”

Nothing,  _nothing_ , always nothing.

“Look at me,” Greta muttered, her voice more bitter than Virgil had ever heard, “Pushing forty and still waiting for my big brother to fix everything,”

Her footsteps faded into the trees. She did not say goodbye.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Her name is May Ann,” said Trudi, “Oh,  _Bruderspinne_ , you should see her. She’s going to be trouble, I can tell. A week old and she’s already got hair red as cardinal feathers,”

She made some nonsense noises, and Virgil heard soft infant coos in response. Babies all looked pretty similar, so it was easy to picture May, small and bright-haired and born ready to raise Virgil’s blood pressure.

“ _Mutti’s_  been moping,” said Trudi, “May cries every time she picks her up. I’m sure she’ll grow out of it, but it’s very odd,”

Her voice picked back up into baby talk.

“Yes, yes, very odd,” she cooed, “So strange. Why don’t you get along with  _Oma_ , silly Mayflower? Fussy baby, fussy baby,”

There was no heat or reprimand in her voice. Trudi had wanted a baby for so long – she was more than thirty now, he thought, although they’d stopped keeping Virgil updated on birthdays, which was nail-bitingly anxiety inducing.

Or would be, if he could move.

“…  _would I grant all your wishes, and be proud of the task?_ ” Trudi crooned, “ _Only forever, if someone should ask…_ ”

* * *

Greta hardly ever spoke to him anymore, and though it had never stopped bothering him, it  _had_  stopped freaking him out. Only the sound of rustling fabric and shifting feet. She’d go what must be days, maybe weeks without coming to him. Her breathing was different, whistling like it was difficult, and when she did speak, her voice was different too, almost a croak.

“That day…” she started.

A long pause, and Virgil thought she might have changed her mind about speaking.

She continued, but not the same thought.

“I am not afraid of much,” she said, “I can hold my own, most of the time,”

She spoke so quietly, more subdued than she’d ever been. Defeated.

“And there was you,” she said, voice cracking, “What I did fear, you didn’t. My big brother, the scariest thing in the dark and not scary at all,”

“But that day,” said Greta, returning to her first thought, “That day, when you looked up at me in the doorway, Trudi yelling and the dog barking and that snake wearing my face next to you…”

Virgil knew. He remembered. He would never forget.

“Your face,” choked Greta, “I’ll never forget it,”

Virgil wanted to laugh. What a matched set they were, even now.

“You were so scared. You looked so young,”

She let out a shuddering breath.

“You  _were_  looking older, you know,” she said, “I don’t think you noticed. Those last couple years – a little faster all the time. I think you were trying to match pace with Trudi,”

He hadn’t noticed. But in hindsight – yes, he had been. Greta was right, not much – but enough. Maybe he’d have eventually looked older than her again.

“But now,” she said, “Now we will never know. I’ll never finish; I know that now,”

She came only a few more times. She never spoke again. On the last day, she sang, and her voice was barely recognizable.

“ _We shall meet, but we shall miss him; there will be one vacant chair… we shall linger to caress him while we breathe our evening prayer…”_

She could barely get the wordsout around her her tears, and Virgil ached and ached and wanted to cry with her and wanted her to stop crying because he couldn’t stand it, couldn’t bear it a second longer but it didn’t stop and he didn’t have a choice.

“ _Sleep today, O early fallen, in thy green and narrow bed… dirges from the pine and cypress mingle with the tears we shed…”_

* * *

He listened to Trudi stand over him for a long time – hours, easily – before she spoke.

“ _Mutti_  died last night,  _Bruderspinne_ ,” she whispered.

And something cracked in Virgil’s chest, and held, and  _shattered._

* * *

May didn’t come unless she got dragged. She didn’t like Virgil much, he could tell, but she didn’t say enough for him to quite figure out why.

She was talking, but she wasn’t speaking to him. He focused, listening to her angry, errant muttering.

“Got the poor woman so spelled she can’t even pass on,” she snarled, “Some brother. Some family. Got ‘em both charmed thinkin’ the sun shines out his ass,”

Well. She was wrong but – he could see her reasoning.

She was doing something to the trees – tapping, nailing, something like that. That went on for a while, and then she moved closer. When she spoke, he thought she must be leaning over him, her voice was so close.

“You’re no family of mine,” she hissed, “But if you were ever theirs, you’ll stay here and shut up and let my poor Oma rest in peace,”

He didn’t know what she meant. Rest in peace? What happened to Greta? Not passing on?

“Good riddance,” spat May, stalking away, and her footsteps faded.

And then?

Well, then… it was quiet for a very,  _very_  long time.

* * *

Virgil faded in and out. It was impossible to tell how much time passed in the dark of his own closed eyes – he could generally guess the season by the sound of the leaves (or lack thereof) but counting them was beyond his concentration.

Much, much later, there was another voice, but Virgil didn’t recognize her and she didn’t talk to him. The first time was more tapping, and then she sat near the casket fiddling with some kind of fabric, he thought. Sometimes she sang.

“ _And why does my appearance seem to have a somber tone? Well there’s a reason for the things that I have on…”_

She didn’t sound like Greta or May, brassy and commanding. She didn’t sound like Trudi, a sweet, lilting lullaby of a voice no matter the actual content of the song.

“ _I wear it for the prisoner who has long paid for his crime, but is there because he’s a victim of the times…”_

Firm, he decided. Self-assured. He wondered who she was – had to be related to Greta to get in, but was she May’s daughter? A niece? _Granddaughter_? How long had it been?

“ _I wear the black in mourning for the lives that could have been…”_

 _Please talk to me_ , thought Virgil,  _Say anything. Remind me I’m not just a body laying here._

She never did. The time between her visits got longer and longer, her voice more and more distracted, and then one day Virgil realized he didn’t actually remember the last time she’d been there.

 _Alone again_ , he thought.

He wondered if it would stick this time.

* * *

“ _Oof,_ ”

Virgil snapped to awareness. His half-doze broke into pieces at the sound, the first voice in ages and ages.

“Oh, hello,” said the voice, male this time. “Oh, wow, a lot of hellos. How are you, little misses?”

Virgil would have smiled if he could. He liked this person – not many people would stick around a clearing full of spiders, let alone greet them.

“You’re so pretty, wow,” he said, “You look like little bits of glass! The prettiest spiders I ever saw, just striking!”

Virgil’s grasp on the link between him and his sisters was tenuous like this, but he could get impressions – they were flattered. They’d be giggling, probably, if they had voices.

“And what’s this? Center of a magic clearing, very shiny – must be important, obviousl-”

He cut off abruptly.

“Oh, wow,” he said again, “Are you a prince?”

Virgil would have cackled. He wondered if he could blush like this.

“Who am I kidding, you gotta be,” he said, a little awed, “I’ve never seen a boy so pretty,”

There were some knocks to the glass and the sides.

“Maybe it’s like Snow White. But I can’t kiss you, the glass is in the way,”

A pause.

A soft  _smack,_  and Virgil had determined that he could not, in fact, blush like this.

“Worth a shot,” said the boy.

He tried breaking the glass -  Greta’d spun in from tears, hers and Trudi’s, so that wasn’t happening, but this boy was nothing if not tenacious – and then tracing various patterns on the base, and then increasingly nonsensical rhymes.

He’d been at it for hours.

“It’s gettin’ dark,” he said, “Mamaw’s gonna wonder where I am,”

 _It’s alright_ , Virgil thought, pointlessly,  _You tried. It was sweet_.

There was the faintest sound of skin touching the glass, and suddenly Virgil could – he could  _feel_  it. The warmth of the stranger’s skin, through the barrier.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll come back tomorrow, and try again,”

“My name’s Roman, and I’m gonna break your curse, fairy prince. I promise,”

The hand moved away, and the strange burning with it. The promise wasn’t binding, not unless Virgil responded – which he couldn’t, and _wouldn’t_  besides, seeing as his visitor clearly didn’t know what he was doing.

But it settled over him anyway, like a thin blanket – soft and comforting, even if it didn’t do much to actually protect you.

 _Alright_ , said Virgil,  _Roman. I hope you’re right._

And who knew? Virgil had been here a long time.

He didn’t have anything else to do but wait.

**Author's Note:**

> i was sad while i was gone so i'm inflicting this on the rest of you :)


End file.
